


Spare Me Over

by ashaleighmarie



Series: Thy Kingdom Come [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Mad King Ryan, Multi, Myan - Freeform, Will adjust categories and tags as they become applicable, king AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashaleighmarie/pseuds/ashaleighmarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael knew, of course, that those stories were false. He had touched the crown before, had run his fingers around its edges and turned it in his hands. He’d even placed it on his head, purely from curiosity, and when Ryan had seen him with it he had been quiet for a second, staring down at him, and then chosen amusement over ire, kissing his forehead as he relieved the curls of their burden, and placed it back where it belonged among his things on his desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Regards

**Author's Note:**

> So I've already got a second chapter planned, and the rest of the boys will be introduced there, and be added to the character list up top. I just didn't want to advertise characters I hadn't yet introduced, heh. This is more of an intro chapter, playing around with the rules and standards of this newly developing universe. I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> The mature rating and violence selection will be earned later on.
> 
> Trust me.
> 
> Ryan's 'terms' and the inspiration for this segment and much of later development comes from O Death - Jen Titus. Full lyrics from the original folk song were also used for inspiration.

_"The Mad King sends his regards.”_

“Please, don’t- look, we’ll offer him anything, he can have anything! The whole castle, it’s his, Mogar, just-”

He flinched, head driven back into the stone wall to avoid the tip of the diamond sword that hovered over his throat. A quiet _tsk_ echoed back at him from under the fierce hood of the bear cloak that the warrior wore.

“You know the way the Mad King works.” Blood splashed across the cobblestones under their feet. A wide, toothy grin stared down at unseeing eyes. “Nothing satisfies him but your soul.”

\----------

His returns were never greeted with fanfare, and he preferred it that way. Far better if no one ever knew for sure if he was within the walls of the capital or without until they were face to face with him. There were only a handful who ever truly knew his every movement. Who even knew his proper name. And one of them was the King himself.

The rest were those who served alongside him on the King’s Guard, four warriors boasting a variety of skills, each sworn to obey the King, most frequently through orders passed down through himself, the King’s Second.

He slipped past the guards on the walls and through the front gates, exchanging nothing but quiet nods with those who cared to notice him. The smell of copper on his boots kept most of them from making eye contact.

He slipped through long hallways and up longer staircases, to the King’s own personal quarters, passing through the door and barring it at his back. His vision adjusted quickly from torchlight to darkness again, and he moved through the dark without difficulty, lighting up the room, casting light and shadows over the King’s bed.

It was empty.

“Michael. I thought you might beat the sun in returning from your errand.”

The warrior smiled to himself as he turned and saw the King, sitting casually at his desk in the corner, clad in nothing but the thick, plaid kilt he always wore, legs sprawled wide in a comfortable pose that drew the eyes to the flash of knee and upper thigh whenever he shifted just that little bit further to one side or the other.

“You asked me to report back the moment the job was done, whatever the fucking hour. And here I am.”

Ryan’s gaze tracked down his body, over the bloodied hem of his cloak, the rust-colored stain on his fingers, the glow of a night’s killing in the flush on his cheeks. And the Mad King grinned. “Here you are indeed.”

“They tried to bargain.” The crook of graceful fingers coaxed him forward a step, and he drew his bear skin cloak off his shoulders and tossed it over the chest at the foot of the bed. His sword joined it, and his boots as well. He stripped himself down without hesitation. It was a process he was familiar with, but it always came with the same thrill as the first time, to feel those piercing blue eyes raking across skin littered with scars and holding only appreciation for the fierceness that had earned them all, and allowed him to survive earning them.

“And did you remind them of my terms?” Ryan’s expressive mouth was quirked with amusement and encouragement, drawing Michael forward by his belt now, so he stood between those wide-slung legs, forcing the kilt higher up his King’s thighs.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Michael felt his belt loosen and fall away, allowing his trousers to slide to the floor, leaving him bare. He slid into the open lap and felt strong hands press into the small of his back. “No wealth.” His breath hitched softly as a kiss was pressed against his throat. “No ruin.” Teeth nipped sharply at exposed flesh. “No silver, no gold.” There was a low chuckle, and a warm tongue flicked out across stinging bite marks, soothing them.

“Nothing satisfies you.” Ryan laughed again, the sound even lower now, and the lazy roll of hips underneath him hinted at how Michael would indeed be _satisfying_ him soon enough. “Except the soul.”

“Mm.” Ryan’s hum was thick and ripe with approval. “Clever boy.” Michael pressed back into his wandering hands with a quiet keening sound, knowing how the older man enjoyed when he was vocal. He exhaled on a shudder and focused dark eyes on the fierce blue of the King.

“Do _clever boys_ get a fucking reward any time before the sun rises, Your _Grace_?” He curled his arms around the Mad King’s shoulders as they rose from the chair, held aloft by the hands that slid under his thighs until he slooowly slid down to the floor, on his own two feet once more. The King’s kilt dropped off his hips, but his gaze never fell, not breaking eye contact until Ryan broke first, laughing again before dragging Michael forward into a proper kiss.

“I think it can be arranged,” he murmured.

\----------

Sleep might have been scarce, but sex did wonders for keeping his energy boosted as the day began and they were both forced to redress, to face the rest of the world. Michael finished first, predictably, and watched as his King settled the bone crown on top of messy blonde hair – no shining crown needed for the Mad King, he was content to let the wealth that was required to run a kingdom gather in the treasury where it belonged. For his own intentions, it played no part. 

No, it was the thick, hand-carved bone of a huge bull that Ryan himself had once slain that sat atop his head and proclaimed his right to rule. So epic had the battle been, Ryan had seen fit to name the beast, and the name Edgar soon carried an edge of awe and fear to it when it was whispered behind closed doors.

More superstitious sorts had begun to believe the great bull had gifted Ryan with powers beyond the average human’s understanding, that the crown truly graced him with something that no other could dream of possessing.

Michael knew, of course, that those stories were false. He had touched the crown before, had run his fingers around its edges and turned it in his hands. He’d even placed it on his head, purely from curiosity, and when Ryan had seen him with it he had been quiet for a second, staring down at him, and then chosen amusement over ire, kissing his forehead as he relieved the curls of their burden, and placed it back where it belonged among his things on his desk.

So no, there was no magic to it, but it was a story that only helped to secure his reign, and so they allowed it to spread unhindered.

“Go get breakfast.” Michael glanced up, surprised, and found himself under the scrutiny of those bright blue eyes again. “You did well, but I know you didn’t stop to eat before you came to me. Besides, the rest of the Guard will be waiting to hear from you. You can regale them with your stories over something to eat.”

Michael wanted to protest – surely Ryan was heading that way as well, and they could go together – but instead he merely inclined his head. “Will you be joining us?”

“Not right away. I have something to check on first.” Ryan’s tone remained neutral, even as he nodded to the door. “I don’t need you to walk with me. Go.”

Michael knew better than to argue. Their Mad King wasn’t afraid to raise his hand against insolence – something Michael was very good at sometimes – and even the King’s Second wasn’t above getting the back of the hand to his mouth for running it. So he merely bowed low, with a quiet mutter of, “Your Grace,” and then passed through the door and was gone.

Ryan watched him go, knowing his warrior was more irritated by the dismissal than he let on. But it was for the best. He lingered a moment, lost in thought, and then he shook his head, glancing to the side, to the mirror that hung from the wall.

He could see the King, the imposing figure that everyone touted him to be, the ruler of a kingdom that took no prisoners and accepted no quarter, but was fair enough to those that served him. Mostly because he had the opportunity to purge any darker desires on their enemies rather than having a need to turn that foulness on the people he looked over.

Sometimes he still wondered if the only reason the alliance with King Burns in the east still held was because Geoff served him so loyally. Or with King Gruchy to the north because of Gavin. The west he knew he held peace with only thanks to Mogar’s fearsome reputation.

All in all, he was just fine with that.

With a shrug of finality, he turned away again and grabbed the only relic of gold he had deemed worth keeping for his personal use, a staff with a golden shaft, with an obsidian ferrule at the end and a single, round diamond in the face of its handle.

He tapped the end of the staff against a loosened slab of stone behind his bed, and waited patiently as his bookshelf shifted, loosening from its place in the wall so he could swing it outward, passing through so it could slide shut behind him once more with a solid grind of stone.

With a jaunty whistle, he set off down the corridor his passage had opened up into.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Michael, really. The warrior who had proven himself a worthy opponent to full grown men while still only a lad. The ruthless killer who served his King without hesitation or remorse. The lover who seemed to melt so willingly into his bed whenever he pleased.

No, of anyone in his closest circle, he trusted Michael.

But some things were better left untrusted to anyone at all.


	2. The King's Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People said that Ryan was the Mad King, but Michael never saw it. He was ruthless, occasionally cruel, but usually good-natured and intelligent. His enemies spoke of dark pits and blood and wild laughter, and maybe all those things were true. But the people under Ryan’s domain were healthy and safe, and what more could you ask of a king than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The King's Guard, in all it's glory
> 
> And a little backstory on the discovery of Mogar
> 
> I'm slowly starting to understand more about the universe as I delve deeper. I'm excited to keep writing, while things seem to be clicking so well.
> 
> Things should get a little more interesting next chapter~

_“Gods, Ryan, don’t taunt him!”_

_But the Mad King seemed unconcerned, despite the situation. It was only a boy, after all. A very strong boy, given the two downed soldiers that he stood over, but still. He looked as though his arms were about to give out, trembling from the weight of the heavy steel sword he gripped so tightly with both hands. But his legs were steady, his stance secure, prepared to continue fighting if need be. He had brown hair in short curls that clung to his sweaty forehead, his thin chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath._

_Just a boy._

_He said so, out loud, and watched the fury flicker in those fierce brown eyes. “Just a boy. I don’t think I have anything to fear.” There was quiet, nervous laughter from around him, but most seemed more preoccupied with their Mad King as he walked closer to the young man._

_The boy fell back a step, then drew himself up to his full height and took it forward again. He was brave, and proud._

_Ryan decided that he liked that about him._

_“What is your name, boy?”_

_Thin fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword he still held, extended outward. Its tip was a few mere feet away from King. And he was only slowly drawing closer all the time._

_Finally, his tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip. “I am Mogar.”_

_“And where did you learn to fight?”_

_His head came up, sharply. “I taught myself.”_

_Ryan chuckled, lifting a hand partially, in a gesture of calm. “I believe it. It’s impressive. How young did you start?”_

_“As young as I had to.”_

_Quick, too. He wasn’t some clumsy farmhand that stumbled across a sword and claimed it for himself._

_“What do you do, when you’re not knocking seasoned fighters onto their asses in the mud?” Both soldiers scuttled back a little further from the center of the circle, where Mogar and the King now stood, less than a foot between them._

_“I live here. In the woods.” Dark eyes darted back and forth, but always returned to Ryan. “I always have. Ever since my father died. Left me his house, and his horse. His garden, even though I’m shit at it.” Alarm briefly lit across his features, and he met Ryan’s eyes again. As though, of everything he’d done, swearing in front of the King might be what crossed the line._

_Ryan found himself smiling again._

_“So you live here, in the woods, in your father’s home, alone.” The boy nodded, once. “And you taught yourself to fight.”_

_“Had to hunt to eat. Had to defend myself.” His gaze darted around again. “More than rabbits in these woods.”_

_“Indeed.” Ryan took the last step forward, and the sword pressed, ever so lightly, against his chest. The boy jerked back a step, and the sword lowered somewhat between them. His smile widened. “Would you like to do something other than living in the woods, fending for yourself with a sword you can barely lift?”_

_Mogar raised the sword high again, but the effort that the gesture took was more than obvious. “Depends on what it is,” he hedged, unwilling to compromise, but clearly not entirely opposed to listening anyway._

_“How old are you, boy? Ten, eleven?”_

_Pride had that chin rising again, freckled cheeks flushed with annoyance. “Thirteen with the next moon.”_

_“Thirteen, and you managed to defeat two men with better equipment and better training.” Ryan spread his hands. “I would offer you a place as a member of my guard, with some training. You’ve got the makings of a very fine warrior, Mogar. I’d like to see what you can do.”_

_Brows furrowed briefly in consideration, locked onto his face, and then, quietly, the boy asked, “Would I be able to return home first? For Hidalgo, and-” He faltered briefly, until Ryan nodded._

_“Our hunt isn’t over yet. We could agree to meet again here, in a day’s time?” The boy nodded, and finally let his sword fall, dropping its tip into the dirt. His shoulders drooped a little with exhaustion. “I look forward to it.”_

_Mogar glanced back over his shoulder, at the men who blocked his way, and Ryan ordered them to make a path so he could leave. With a final quiet look in Ryan’s direction, the boy took off, disappearing into the trees._

_“We’re never gonna see that little monster again,” grumbled Denecour as Ryan returned to his horse, glancing idly at the Captain of his guard._

_“We will,” he returned, looking back off into the woods, where the boy had vanished. “And you’ll be the one in charge of his training.”_

_“And when he doesn’t? I bet you anything, Your Grace, that boy won’t be back.”_

_Ryan urged his horse onward, calling over his shoulder, “You already serve me without question, Denecour. What else could you possibly offer me that I can’t already take if I wanted it?”_

\----------

“Mogar!”

The warrior heard the chorus of his name from four men at once the moment he entered the hall. His fellow members of the King’s Guard were already at the table, halfway through the loaded plates that sat in front of each of them.

One actually slid off his seat at the bench and sprinted over to him, pouncing at him as soon as he was close enough, crowing with delight. “When did you get back?! We’ve been bloody wondering where you were at!”

Michael returned the embrace with a firm squeeze, then shoved the other off. “Gods, Gavin, let me get in the door. I’m fucking starving.” He allowed himself to be dragged, knowing there were few methods other than an actual wrestling match to get Gavin to settle down once he was excited. The archer wedged him onto the bench, right next to the oldest of their company, Geoff. He received a firm bump of shoulders from the other, quietly exchanging amused smirks over the antics of their still-exclaiming companion as he tried to figure out how he had miscalculated and allowed Michael to sit where Gavin’s plate still sat, half-finished.

“Too late, Gav, this one’s mine now.” The man squawked and then whined, tugging at his shoulder until he relented and swapped the loaded plate for an empty one, fixing his own food to eat.

“Did you only just get back?” asked the bearded man across the table, and Michael shrugged as he tore a chunk off of a fresh loaf of bread and popped it into his mouth. Jack seemed to sense that he didn’t want to talk too much about the specifics of his return, but then of any of them, Jack seemed to always be the best at reading people. It was as much a reason for his place among them as was his skill with the huge broadsword that he knew the man usually carried.

“I assume everything went well.” That much he could confirm, at least.

“Yeah. Killed a few guards and they surrendered pretty quickly. Seemed all too willing to let me get away with killing their lord asshole if it meant the rest of them got to survive. He tried to bribe me to let him go, of course. New guy seems like he’ll be a little more cautious about how things are run over there now.”

“We could’ve gone with you, been there, done, and back even quicker.” This came from Ray, elbow braced on the table as he took a swallow from his cup, glancing at Michael over the rim. The ranger had tried to tag along as he had been leaving too. But Ryan’s orders had been specific. Only he had been meant to tend to the problem.

“I handled it on my own without any problems. It was nice to make it back into the city before anyone else was awake, anyway. You know I hate dealing with stupid people.”

“Still. For next time. Share the glory, yeah?” He was smiling, and Michael relaxed. He didn’t want to start the day fighting about stupid shit with any of his boys. He knew it was just Ray being Ray. He had the best knowledge of stealth and healing of any of them, and he’d been good for getting them out of tight spots on more than a few occasions.

Enough times spent patching up the men you fought so closely alongside would make anyone paranoid.

“Yeah, well, next time talk to Ryan-“

“What are we talking to Ryan about?” Five heads turned at once as the King’s voice interrupted them, looking amused to be the topic of their conversation.

“About Mogar taking a little backup every now and then when he’s off on a job. Ray worries,” drawled Geoff, blocking the slice of bacon that was thrown across the table at him in response. Despite the heavy-eyed look of the older man, his reflexes were flawless, a rather necessary talent for someone who professed that _shields were for cowards_ and instead chose to wield a sword in either hand.

Ryan cast his gaze over Ray, and then it slid to the side, settling on Michael. “I have every confidence in Mogar,” he said with an amused quirk of his mouth. “I don’t send him out alone for anything I don’t think he can handle.”

Ray’s gaze dropped down and to the side, feeling thoroughly chastised.

“Still… Who knows. Maybe the next job I need to send any of you on will require two people.” Ray’s head shot up again, and the smile on Ryan’s face brought a grin quickly to Ray’s. Watching them, Michael felt a pang of affection for the both of them, for all of them sitting around the table now.

The five people in the world that meant the most to him, more than his own life.

People said that Ryan was the Mad King, but Michael never saw it. He was ruthless, occasionally cruel, but usually good-natured and intelligent. His enemies spoke of dark pits and blood and wild laughter, and maybe all those things were true. But the people under Ryan’s domain were healthy and safe, and what more could you ask of a king than that?


End file.
